


The Beithir

by Katzedecimal



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Blood, Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Dismemberment, Hair Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, Mythology - Freeform, Other, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Cuddles, neolithic Alps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25543477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: All across Europe, there are legends of a powerful goddess and a great serpent, said to be her spouse.A curious combination that surely started somewhere....
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 69





	The Beithir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aethelflaed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/gifts).



It was a bright and sunny day. That’s probably why he didn’t see it happen. Crossing the glacier, the sun blazed off the snow, making difficult to see even with the carved slotted goggles they both wore. Aziraphale checked on his companion’s progress, illness slowing the man’s steps as surely as the snow. 

A soft _thunk_ drew his attention and he turned in time to see his friend collapse, falling awkwardly across his left arm into the snow, the shaft of an arrow protruding from his back. The next arrow hit him. He turned again, trying to determine the source of the assault, and missed the assailant who clubbed him across the back of the head. A flint-bladed knife, wickedly sharp, slid easily through his thick leather parka and into his ribs. Dazed, he fell to his knees.

 _Then_ he saw the attackers as they mobbed him. He managed to get a hand loose to pull a miracle down, repairing the stab wound and repelling the attackers back by several feet. Enough for him to get his bearings… 

A spear jammed into his side and an axe slammed into his arm. That stung rather a lot, he thought, gazing numbly at it. It lay on the snow, bleeding gold ichor into the too-bright snow. The axe bit again and again, into his legs and his other arm and he couldn’t think and-

“Aziraphale!” That voice sounded familiar. _”AZIRAPHALE!”_ He forced his head to turn. A warrior was rushing over the snow, his face painted blue, his long locks a fiery red. **”AZIRAPHALE!”** and threw aside his wooden shield, his face growing darker and redder- 

And then, the Serpent of Eden. Twenty, forty, sixty feet long? Far larger and longer than any mortal snake, the Serpent plunged over the snow, terrifying the enemy. They threw their spears but their tips couldn’t penetrate the mighty Serpent’s scales. Arrows bounced harmlessly away. The axe swung down and the terrible Serpent hissed, showing his fangs, then faster than lightning - struck. The axe-wielder cried out in agony and fell to the snow. The attackers screamed in terror and backed away as fast as they could. 

“You look lovely,” he murmured, lifting his head to gaze at the Serpent. _Oh. Oh dear. Is that… Is that my leg?_ The Serpent of Eden lifted the severed appendage and fit it against the ragged wound on Aziraphale’s torso. 

“For Sssssatan’s sssssake, angel, what the heaven happened?”

“…couldn’t see…” He yelped in pain as another appendage was fitted to its stump. Overall it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it should. Or did it? It was hard to tell. 

“One more, angel. Jussst hold on. You’re not disssscorporating on me jusssst yet.”

“…just as you say…” he murmured. He felt light-headed. All the ichor rushing from his head, he supposed. His eyelids fluttered open in time to see the Serpent drop the arm he carried in his mouth and fit it up against the stump with his snout. 

Then he flexed his coils and dug down into the snow. He tunneled beneath Aziraphale and came up on his other side, looping over him, did it again and again until he had Aziraphale fully wrapped up. “Jussst about, angel. Hang on. No exsssspiring on me now!” He flexed his coils and pain flared as the severed parts were drawn up tight to where they belonged, making Aziraphale cry out. “C’mon, angel - Pull yoursssself together!”

He had just enough strength left to lift his remaining arm, forcing injured nerves and muscles to cooperate, just enough energy to snap himself miraculously whole. And then, blackness enfolded him, darker than the Serpent’s scales.

* * * *

He felt safe. He was cupped in the hand of God. The sensation of security overwhelmed him and pulled him back down into the darkness.

* * * *

He dreamed of comfort and love, feelings he hadn’t known since… ever, really. They bathed him, he basked in their warmth, cradled as securely as a babe to a mother’s breast. He dreamed of golden eyes and a sibilant voice whispering “Angel…,” pulling him under into the depths of those swirling golden eyes and he drowned.

* * * *

Everything ached. He woke to the smell of a peat fire and the warmth of furs and wool. Under the peat, the distinctive smell of sulphur and snake musk. The surface he lay on was firm and bumpy but not lumpy like a pallet and didn’t shift like a straw mattress. Aziraphale opened his eyes and groaned. 

“Easssy, angel,” said the familiar voice, “It’sss just me.”

“…crawley?”

“Hello, Angel,” the demon’s voice went tender. 

Aziraphale looked around. He appeared to be in a small house but his view was mostly steeply pitched roof. The bed he was in was very firm, with a smooth, slightly rough black covering and red… No - not a bed. It was Crawley himself. He lay snugly cradled in a nest of the Serpent of Eden’s own coils. The Serpent lifted his head. Despite lacking any eyebrows or facial movement to speak of in this form, his golden eyes were full of worry and care. 

Aziraphale felt a flush of warmth in his chest, rising up and spreading across his face in a blossoming smile. “Crawley,” he breathed, “I dreamed about you.”

“Did you? What did you dream?”

“You were an enormous mighty serpent and you set upon your enemies and rousted them quite…mightily.”

“That was no dream,” Crawley chuckled in a voice as soft as lambswool, “That was real. How do you feel?”

Aziraphale tried to stretch and immediately regretted it. “Everything hurts,” he admitted.

“I imagine it doessss,” Crawley said, “How much can you move? Can you sssit?”

Aziraphale found that he could, though the struggle was slow and the effort left him gasping for breath and in tears from the pain. But finally he was sitting upright.

“What do you sssay, angel, are you up for sssome warm ale? I’d have to move.”

Aziraphale swallowed but nodded. “In my medicine bag,” he panted, “In the indigo packet. Flower of the Kush mountains. If that’s not enough, I have syrup of the poppy of slumber in a jar.”

“Alright, Gonna move now.”

Aziraphale sucked a tight breath as the great Serpent shifted, his coils shrinking and shifting, lowering Aziraphale to the straw mattress below as Crawley changed his shape. Soon his human form lay curled around him on the mattress. Aziraphale felt the smile bloom across his face again as he beheld the demon’s autumn-coloured curls. “Hello.”

The same smile blossomed on Crawley’s face. “Hello, Angel,” he said just as softly, “Let me get you that ale. And your herbs.”

Very shortly, Aziraphale was sat up in the bed, smoking a pipe of flower and sipping a cup of warmed meadowsweet ale. He waited until the herb had done its work before asking, “What happened, Crawley?”

Crawley sat on the edge of the bed frame, “What do you remember?”

“Well, I, I, I don’t know, really. But whatever I did, it must have been a terrible…”  
_an arm bleeding golden ichor into the snow_  
_trying to kick with nothing to kick with_  
_collapsing with nothing left to stand on_  
_red and gold on the clean white snow_  
_in the jaws of the dread Serpent_ He shoved up the sleeve of his curta to stare at his arm, then threw back the covers and jerked up the curta hem to see his legs.

“Steady on, steady on,” Crawley’s voice intoned softly. His hand lay lightly on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You’re alright, you’re safe. We got everything back together before you ran out of miracle power and passed out. I did my best from there but there’s only so much I can do with demonic miracles.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, “I’m sure you did wonderfully. I just need to… recharge, while I recharge, then I should be able to take a bit more off.”

“Yeahhhhhh, what happened there? I thought your lot had all kinds of miraculous power.”

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale shifted, uncomfortable and not from the pain, “We did.” He shifted again as the silence drew out. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” he glanced quickly at Crawley.

Crawley shrugged, “Who am I going to tell?”

“It’d be a considerable feather in Hell’s cap if they find out.” Crawley shrugged again. Aziraphale took a breath and sighed, “They restricted our access rather severely for the Flood thing.”

“Of course they did,” Crawley sneered and rolled his eyes, “Can’t have you lot **saving** anyone! You know, I told my lot about that and Beelzebub said the same thing that I did, that it was something you’d expect of our lot. That’s why you didn’t hear very much out of us after that. Well… that and there was nobody left alive to tempt.”

Aziraphale nodded and unpursed his lips with a slight pop, “The thing is, they never quite reinstated it.”

Crawley’s eyes widened with shock, “They didn’t?! You mean… All this time, you’ve been working off of…” Aziraphale nodded slowly, meeting Crawley’s golden eyes. The moment stretched out between them as the demon realised. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re in **my** power, then, isn’t it?” He grinned and saluted Aziraphale with his cup then drank. 

Aziraphale smiled and saluted back, “Quite. I shudder to think what would happen if I ran into any other demons like this.”

“Yeah,” Crawley said, suddenly looking worried and thoughtful.

Aziraphale noticed. “Is that… likely to happen?”

“It’s possible,” Crawley admitted, “But if it does, I’ll throw them off.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, “Perhaps you might… tell me what to watch out for?”

“Yeah that’s fair,” Crawley agreed, “I’m not going to tell them, angel. Let them figure it out for themselves the hard way.”

Aziraphale nodded, relieved. “Much more sporting that way,” he said, risking a little grin.

Crawley blew out his lips in that way he had and grinned, “Wouldn’t want to spoil their idea of fun. How’s that going for your lot? I haven’t heard of any clashes recently but I don’t go Downstairs much if I can help it.”

Aziraphale sighed ruefully, “I don’t stand around Upstairs for long either, not that they’d tell me anything anyways. All they want is my report. And all I’ve told them is that you’re a wily adversary.”

Crawley nearly sprayed his drink and swallowed hastily before giving into laughter, “Really? I’m ‘wily?’ Is that even a word?”

Aziraphale was chuckling now too. “I’ve heard it used. It means clever, roguish, sneaky, crafty and cunning.”

Crawley’s mouth briefly flattened as he considered it and nodded, “Yeah that sounds like me. ‘Wily.’ I’m ‘wily.’”

“Oh, very wily. And devilishly clever. A complete scamp!”

This time Crawley did spray his ale. “ _’Scamp?’_ ”

“’He wears the facade of a roguish scamp to lure the unwary, but he is terribly wily and difficult to thwart.’”

Crawley burst into full throated laughter. “ **That’s** what you’re telling them Upstairs about me?”

“In one of my reports, yes,” Aziraphale beamed innocently, “I needed to explain how just smiting you wouldn’t stop the knock-on effects of your temptations, you see.”

“Ah, right.”

“Why, what do you tell Downstairs about me?”

“That you don’t **need** a sword.”

“Oh. Well… I suppose that explains the absence…”

“No no no no no! Smiting, see? And most of my lot aren’t all that clever, so if you don’t need a sword and you’re still able to thwart me, in their minds that means you must be really _really_ powerful!”

“Oh! Oh good heavens…”

“And I keep telling them, ‘if you run afoul of Aziraphale, do **not** engage him, just get out of there, leave him to me.’”

“And that works?”

“Well how many other demons do you run into?”

“Not many, it’s true.”

“There you are, then.” They laughed and Crawley refilled their ale cups. “So what brings you to the Alps?”

Aziraphale sighed sadly, “That poor fellow I was with. We were crossing the glacier in quest of medicine to cure the parasitic worms within him.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, he was dead before I got there.”

“With the sun on the snow, even with my snow-goggles I was quite snow-blind. I couldn’t see who attacked us at all. Why were you there?”

“Been working the village down the mountain for a while now. Felt you in the area, came up to see what you were doing.”

“Well I’m very glad you did,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Well I’m not letting my favourite adversary get discorporated by humans, that’s my job,” Crawley said with a teasing smile, “And if I did that, it wouldn’t be any fun anymore!”

And there they were. Aziraphale smiled warmly. Out of all the demons he had met, Crawley was the most challenging - and the most fun. He was the most difficult to thwart because thwarting him meant a battle of wits, not corporations. He was friendly, not hostile, which meant Aziraphale had to be extra vigilant to recognise and avoid the demon’s temptations. Aziraphale was never lying when he said that Crawley kept him on his toes, sharp and alert. He always had interesting things to share, including alcohol. 

He wasn’t supposed to like Crawley - but he did. He finished his ale and said, “Thank you. I’m feeling rather stronger, I think. I should be able to heal myself now.” And he reached up to snap a miracle down. 

* * * *

He basked in the feelings of security and comfort, feeling warm in his heart. There was kindness and concern and caring, all wrapped up in the sensation of being tended to.

He had never felt this way in Heaven.

* * * *

He opened his eyes with a low groan.

“Yeahhhhhh I think you weren’t quite asss recovered asss you thought,” a voice drawled.

Aziraphale looked down to his waist, where the Serpent lifted his head to look at him. He smiled. “Apparently not,” he croaked, “How long was I out?”

“Thisss time? Three dayssss.”

 _This time?_ “And… the first time?”

“Fifteen daysss.”

“Oh good heavens!” Aziraphale let his head thump back against the Serpent’s coils, “I’m terribly sorry to have imposed upon you all this time!”

Crawley raised his head again and Aziraphale was once again impressed that a being currently without eyebrows or facial muscles was nevertheless giving him a Look. “Don’t be sssilly, angel.”

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale’s hand settled on a large coil and began to stroke absently, “I’m told that’s rather a flaw in my character.”

Crawley rested his head on Aziraphale’s belly, “Wouldn’t sssay it was a _flaw_ , Angel.” He lifted his head again, this time managing to convey a concerned frown, “Who’ssss telling you being ssssilly is a flaw in your character?”

Aziraphale felt a wave of… dismay? Shame? …He was never entirely sure quite _what_ he felt after reporting to his superiors. “Just… reliable sources.”

Crawley flicked his tongue at him a few times, “Your bossses? The angelsss you report to?” Aziraphale nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Crawley lay his head back down, “Ah, right. And how much experiencsssse do those idiotsss have, living among the humansss?”

“Not much, really.”

“Obvioussssly.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help a little smile, “I think they try to get out of it as often as they can.”

“Foissst it off on you, do they?”

 _…sometimes I think so, yes,_ Aziraphale thought but didn’t say. 

His expression spoke volumes, however, and Crawley snorted, “Basssstarddsss.” 

Aziraphale chuckled but didn’t chide him. “What about your bosses?” he asked instead.

“Eh, my immediate ssssupervisorssss come up from time to time. The princssses though, not often. Won’t sssssee Beelzebub ssswanning about up here.”

“Prefers to delegate?”

“Sss’right.”

“On you?”

“Not all the time.”

“Often enough.”

“Often enough, yeah. Ssserpent of Eden, right?” Crawley sighed heavily.

“Yes, I thought maybe,” Aziraphale patted him sympathetically, “The reward for good work is simply more work.”

“Ssss’right.”

Aziraphale sighed with him, “It certainly does seem to be the case.”

“Got a commendation for Nineveh.”

“Did you really? I thought you didn’t have anything to do with Nineveh.”

“I didn’t, that was all the humansss, but Downssstairs ssstill hasssn’t accepted that yet. Anything like that happensss, they immediately asssume one of ussss did it.” Aziraphale nodded ruefully - So did Heaven. Neither side seemed to want to credit the humans with actually _using_ the free will they’d been given. “What about you?”

“Oh, I, I’ve never gotten a commendation.”

Crawley jerked his head up again, “You what? What, **never?** ”

Aziraphale shook his head, “I don’t think they like my work very much.”

“Oh that’sss bullssssshit! You do good work!”

“Thank you, my dear. It just… never seems to be good _enough._ ”

Crawley lay his head back down. “That’sss bullssshit,” he grumbled again.

Aziraphale sighed, feeling… well, _validated_ , as he often felt around Crawley. Crawley _understood_ , he appreciated the difficulties and subtleties of Aziraphale’s work and the planning that had to go into it. He understood that the humans _did_ have free wills and that they could and did create order and chaos on their own. He understood the rules of engagement and he abided by them. He recognised them as the beings they were while the rest of Heaven and Hell treated them like so many game pieces. Crawley _understood_ , where the rest of Heaven just… just…

With a shock, he realised, he’d been petting the Serpent of Eden and that the coil he’d been petting were in fact Crawley’s head and neck.

“Y’look like you need ssssome more ale.”

“Oh I, I couldn’t trouble you,” Aziraphale said with a nervous smile, “You look very comfortable.”

Crawley flicked his tongue. “’Nuff of that,” he sniffed, “You’re just warm, that’sss all. Getsss cold at night.” Aziraphale’s smile broadened and warmed. “Sssshut it! ‘M a sssnake!”

“Snake-shaped, certainly. Do snakes like it warm?”

“Coursse they do,” Crawley began to shift back to his human shape, “Cold blooded, ssnakess. Ss’why you sssee them ssunning themsselvess on rocks. S’how they get warm.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” said Aziraphale honestly, settling into the straw mattress beneath him, “What happens when they get cold?”

Crawley poured ale and handed him a cup, “Start to brumate.”

“What does that mean?”

“Get really slow and sleepy. Get so cold it gets hard to move. S’a bit like hibernating.”

Aziraphale sipped. He closed his eyes and let the warmth of the ale fill him. “That doesn’t sound at all pleasant. In fact it sounds a bit dangerous.” Aziraphale thought about it a bit more, “What if an angel found you like that?”

“Other than you? I’d be in trouble,” Crawley nodded, “Wouldn’t be fun if any of my lot found me brumating either.”

“Then clearly you chose the correct course of action,” Aziraphale decided, “If you’re becoming chilled, come and get warm. I have plenty of warmth to spare.”

Crawley refilled the cups, “Aren’t you worried you’d get in trouble?”

“What, for helping an animal in distress?”

“Oi! I’m not an _animal!_ ”

“You’d look like one to any passing angel who wasn’t close enough to smell you.”

“It would make winters in these parts a bit less unpleasant,” Crawley conceded, smiling.

Aziraphale sipped his ale again and sighed. A soft breeze was wafting into the little house and his nostrils flared, bringing a rush of saliva to his mouth, “Is someone cooking broth?”

Crawley flicked out his tongue, human-shaped now. “Yeah, goat broth by the smell of it.” 

Aziraphale smiled and wiggled a little, “Oh I haven’t had a nice goat broth in a while.”

Crawley’s grin was warm, “I’ll go see if they’ve any to spare, shall I?” 

* * * *

The house was small, essentially a wooden box with a steeply pitched roof covered with branches, shingles, and moss, and a well-made door, closed solidly against the cold wind blowing in off the mountains. 

Aziraphale hiked up his curta to look at his limbs. The scars were still severe and would take a few more miracles to heal completely but the pain was down to a manageable level and he could move them again. He would be able to walk, at least. His arm was functioning, though it would take some time to rebuild its strength. He sighed. Heaven would be able to repair this damage in a trice.

Heaven would repair the damage and Gabriel would scold him for getting it. Sandalphon would sneer at him, as though he had any actual combat experience with humans. Michael would look at him with disdain down the side of her nose. Uriel would stare stonily. Nobody would care about the mission, save that it ended badly, and that would surely be his fault. Nobody would care that Aziraphale’s charge had been killed. 

Heaven would repair the damage, but that was all. 

Nobody would bring him warmed ale. Or go all the way down into a village to get soup. Or.. Or curl up around him. There was no reason why a demon should do any of those things. All things that humans did, that Heaven _should_ be doing and yet

“Angel? You alright?”

Aziraphale started slightly and looked over - he’d been so lost in his thoughts, he’d missed that Crawley had returned. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, trying to stop the tears. “Sorry, dear fellow. I didn’t hear you return.”

Crawley set down the pottery jars and string bag he carried, “What’s wrong?”

“Just… just thinking.”

“About?”

“About… about Heaven,” Aziraphale admitted. 

Crawley frowned. “I told them my guest was hurt and they gave me things,” he said. He took the lid from a pottery crock and the aroma of the soup, laden with vegetables, grains, legumes, and chunks of goat meat, made Aziraphale’s mouth water. He passed it over then reached into the string bag, “I brought more ale too. And this, the local cheese. It’s quite a delicacy, people come from all over the Alps to trade for it.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t suppress a little wiggle. “Oh, I do like trying the things they do with food. They’re quite inventive, don’t you think?”

“Pretty sure only starvation leads them to invent cheese,” Crawley sniffed then smiled. He picked up another small crock, “The village herbalist made this for you. I know you’ve got stronger painkillers but I didn’t want to say no.”

“Well that’s very thoughtful of her and I won’t decline at all. It means I won’t have to deplete my own supplies quite as much.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”

Aziraphale sipped the decoction, making a face at the bitter taste, then rinsed his mouth with the rich goat soup and took a bite of the cheese. The sharp tang and musky flavour told him it was made from a blend of goat and sheep milks.

Crawley poured himself a cup of ale and sipped it, watching Aziraphale. “Thinking about Heaven makes you cry?”

Aziraphale stopped and stared at his broth. “S-sometimes, yes,” he said, not sure he wanted to explain. Not sure he **should** explain. “No one in Heaven would bring me soup, you see.” Crawley was silent. “I imagine your lot wouldn’t either. Bring you soup if you were injured, I mean.”

“No, but that’s my lot,” Crawley tried to push his hands through his hair and winced when he encountered knots, “But I would have thought… I would have thought your lot…” Aziraphale looked away, swallowing hard and blinking furiously. “I mean, I know they stopped caring about my lot even before we were cast down but I would have thought…” He was watching Aziraphale’s face, carefully. “Did they stop caring about each other, too?” 

The dip of Aziraphale’s chin might have been a nod or might have been a swallow.

“You deserve soup, Angel,” Crawley said softly. 

“I’m not sure that I do,” Aziraphale’s voice was just as low, “I failed in my mission.”

“Did they know the area was contested?”

“I don’t believe so, no.”

“So they sent you out with crap intel,” Crawley snorted. Aziraphale said nothing. “Is that what happened? They sent the two of you out to cross a glacier alone with crap intel that didn’t warn you that the territory is volatile, and a minimalist approach to miracles should anything go wrong, which it did?”

Aziraphale was biting on his lips, pressed tightly together. “Your reading of the situation is rather telling,” he said finally.

Crawley snorted, “S’not like my lot’s never sent **me** out with crap intel. I swear to Satan, sometimes I think they just poke their heads above ground, take a quick look around, and decide that’s good enough.” Aziraphale was biting his lips again. Crawley grinned. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Crawley said innocently, then smirked over the rim of his ale cup, “You say a lot when you’re Not Saying Anything.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Aziraphale said primly. Crawley grinned even wider. “My legs and feet are bothering me, that’s all. Feels like spruce needles.”

Crawley swallowed his ale. “Mm. That’ll be the nerves, I can help with that.”

“Can you really? How? I thought demonic power didn’t run to healing, other than your own?”

“Oh it does, we just don’t,” Crawley said, “It’s just Not Done.” His sneer told Aziraphale what he thought of that particular bit of Hellish etiquette. “Not nearly as much as yours does but I get along alright. Nerves though, those run on fire and plasma power, I can work with those easily enough. Sit back and conserve your own miracle strength, angel, let me take care of your legs. I helped get them back on, after all.”

“Very well,” Aziraphale said, “And in return, would you like me to comb your hair? You’ve got quite a tangle developing at the back, where it’s hard to reach.”

Crawley paused, long enough that Aziraphale worried he had overstepped a boundary. Finally he nodded, “Alright. Sure. Sure. I’ll just.. Get my comb.”

“If you have some spare thongs, I’ll put it into braids so it doesn’t tangle quite as readily.” Aziraphale moved his legs into a V-shape in front of him, “If you sit here, I can work on your hair while you work on my legs. Is that fair?”

“Sure. Sure, angel. Sure.” 

Crawley passed over a carved and polished horn comb and gingerly settled with his back to Aziraphale. Aziraphale hummed softly as he started picking apart fraying braids and teasing open the strands of fiery hair. Crawley rested his palms lightly on Aziraphale’s thighs. The demonic power felt like a sunburn but did soothe the spruce-needles feeling in the angel’s legs.

He worked comb tines into the ends of the locks and combed gently. He pulled apart a snarl and worked it with the comb, always towards the ends, gradually easing the tangles out. He thought about the first time he had seen Crawley, how his hair had cascaded down between his wings in loose coils that caught the sun. 

Aziraphale had the autumn-coloured hair mostly open and half detangled when he realised he’d called the demon “dear.” And Aziraphale had invited him to turn his back on him — no wonder Crawley had been reluctant! But Crawley was safe. He’d taken care of Aziraphale for weeks while the angel lay unable to walk and unconscious in any case. Protected him and healed him to the best of his demonic ability. He bore Aziraphale no ill will and Aziraphale bore none to Crawley.

How could he feel ill towards a being who would smuggle orphaned children onto the Ark?

“How’s it feeling?”

“Nearly there,” Aziraphale said. He ran the comb through from scalp to ends, watching the waves ripple and spring into curls, “It’s in good shape, nice and silky though a bit dry.” Crawley’s shoulders started to shake and Aziraphale realised, “…oh, you… you meant my legs, didn’t you…” Crawley threw an affectionate grin over his shoulder, his golden eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. “Um… Rather better, I think. Not as, as needly.” He realised he was still running his fingers through the thick cascades of curls and Crawley’s grin had gone lopsided the way it did when the demon was particularly amused. Aziraphale decided to shut up and start braiding.

Which didn’t help much. Crawley had been ~~blessed~~ given lovely hair, silky with enough texture to hold a braid well, easy to manipulate. It felt nice against Aziraphale’s rough palms as he separated the strands and began to braid. His fingers were deft and he didn’t pull or tug, ensured no strand would strain the demon’s scalp enough to pain him. Crawley had suffered enough. 

He’d called a demon ‘dear.’

He’d called a demon ‘dear’ and asked for his trust and now he was grooming his hair and being careful not to hurt him. And he realised his fingers were weaving a pattern into the braids, one that would be recognised by the local tribes as protective. _This is probably the wrong thing to do,_ he thought. 

But the little voice deep inside him answered _Then it’s wrong for the right reasons. That’s practically our speciality. We invented that._

* * * *

Aziraphale’s legs were sore but much stronger. He’d spent time building strength in them, walking circuits about the little house and its clearing. He was resting after another stint of climbing up and down the slope that led down to the village when he heard the voices. 

Crawley had gone down to the village to return their pottery jars. Aziraphale knew his voice. The second voice was unfamiliar but the stench of brimstone was not — another demon. 

Carefully Aziraphale got up and went to his medicine bag. He and Crawley had talked about this. He took a pouch out of the bag and began to sprinkle white powder. When he was ready, he took out the pouches Crawley had given him. He took a pinch of the contents of one and threw it into the hearth. As the flash powder blazed brilliant white, he spread his wings and boomed, **”FREE AT LAST!”**

“Blast!” came Crawley’s voice, “He’s loose! See what your meddling has done?!”

Aziraphale stood in the doorway and smiled. Then he flung white powder at Crawley’s feet and shouted, “Foul fiend! This will hold you!” Crawley snarled and struggled, suddenly rooted in place, his feet refusing to move. Aziraphale’s eyes found the other demon and he smiled even brighter, “Ah! So **you’re** the reason! How do you do? I am the Principality Aziraphale and I really must thank you, Mr….?”

The other demon stared at him, confused, “Ordog.”

“Ordog, so lovely to meet you. Thank you so much for interrupting Crawley’s concentration. He’s a terribly wily adversary! I was in a right pickle until you came along!”

“ _Aziraphale?_ ” Ordog sneered, incredulous, “ **You’re** Aziraphale?”

“Yes!”

Ordog snarled at Crawley, “ **This** is what you’re so afraid of?”

“Don’t be fooled! Aziraphale is more than he appears!” Crawley hissed urgently.

“Well he **appears** like I could snap him in half like a twig!”

“Oh I’d like to see you try!”

Ordog turned and bared his fangs at Aziraphale, who smiled and waved. Then with a mighty roar, he charged the angel. 

Aziraphale caught the approaching fist lightly in his fingers and stepped a quarter turn aside, pulling the demon past him and sending him hurtling across the banishing circle drawn in salt around the hearth. Ordog looked up just in time to see the flames burning blue, “Oh shi-”

Aziraphale turned his face aside as the sulphurous fire flared. Then he picked up a broom and swept the circle apart. 

Crawley came in, licking his lips. “Salt? Really?”

“Very handy substance, is salt,” Aziraphale smiled, “Thank you for playing along.”

“Eh, no problem,” Crawley shrugged, “Wasn’t expecting Ordog, though. Wonder what he was doing in the area?”

“Well I’m very glad you told me how belligerent he is. That was very useful, along with the flash powder and the powdered brimstone.”

“Yeah, he’ll think twice next time. Probably. Or probably not.”

“Do you think your people will be very angry with him?”

“For getting banished? Nah. He’ll be embarrassed for a while, that’s all. Meanwhile, you just proved all my claims correct and bolstered your own reputation! Well done, angel!” They laughed together. 

Then Aziraphale sighed and his face grew sad and serious. “I suppose that means I shouldn’t hang about much longer. Once he reports his experience, your people are likely to come around making enquiries. And it wouldn’t do for mine to come looking for me and find you.”

Crawley passed his hand over his hair with a sigh, knowing Aziraphale was right. “Yeah,” he said unhappily, “Are you alright to walk, though?”

Aziraphale shrugged, “I don’t suppose I have much choice.”

“I’ll walk you down to the village. You can pick up whatever you need from there,” Crawley decided. 

“That’s very-” _Kind? Nice?_ “Thoughtful of you.” Aziraphale went back into the house to collect his medicine bag and his other clothes.

They walked to the village in a silence that felt warm and companionable, not awkward and certainly not chilly. 

“Fire-Hair!” one of the villagers called, waving, “Is this your guest? Welcome to our village!” He stared at Crawley’s hair then at Aziraphale, “This is your wife?”

Aziraphale blinked, “Oh, uh-”

A older woman strode up to poke Crawley in the chest, “You didn’t tell me she was your wife!” She turned to Aziraphale, who stared at her short-cropped hair. A quick glance around the village showed that the other elders also wore short hair. “I gave your husband medicines to help your pain. How do you feel?”

“Oh, um, much improved, thank you,” Aziraphale said, “Your medicines are very good. You must be the powerful healer we were told about. I was bringing a patient across the glacier when we were set upon.”

The herbalist shook her greying head sadly, “I mourn with you for his passing. But now you are here with your husband! We will feast to your reunion!”

“That’s terribly kind of you, but I, I, I must continue on my journey,” Aziraphale stammered, “I’m trading the seeds of powerful medicine. May I offer you some? These seeds grow a plant that yields fibre for rope and the flowers contain powerful medicines that treat all manner of pains and ills. Will you take some? In gratitude for your care?”

“I accept your gift of seeds,” the herbalist bowed and took the pouch Aziraphale offered her.

The village man frowned, “Fire-Hair, are you leaving us, then?”

“Afraid so,” Crawley said urbanely. Aziraphale was Not Looking at him. Crawley draped his arm around him with a smile, “I’ve been waiting for my wife a long while, don’t really want to see her go again so soon.” Aziraphale wished he could crawl into a hole somewhere.

“Where are you bound, good lady? Can you go by water? We will give you a boat to speed your way!”

“We know the tribes!” a girl piped up, “We can draw you a map!”

“Oh that’s, that’s terribly kind of you,” Aziraphale said again.

As they followed the village man to the canoes, Crawley leaned over and whispered, “What the blazes did you do to my hair, angel?”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Aziraphale fretted, “In the south, it’s a protective pattern but up here, it appears to be… something else.”

“ **Definitely** something else, Angel,” Crawley laughed. They said goodbye to the villagers then he helped Aziraphale carry the boat down to the river. “I had an idea,” he said as they set the boat down on the shore, out of sight of the village. Aziraphale looked up politely, rubbing his legs. “What if we reported in at the same time? Then our people wouldn’t come looking for us and we’d be free to go back to what we were doing.”

Aziraphale thought about it. He turned it around but couldn’t see any potential sin to it. “Rather proactive, really.”

“Right!” Crawley grinned suddenly, “Meet you back here, then!” The ground crumbled open and he disappeared into the earth. 

Aziraphale bit his lip then looked up towards the heavens. 

* * * *

The sun was setting. Aziraphale had his pack tucked into the boat, which was tied to a tree and ready to cast off, and he was beginning to worry. Then the earth crumbled open and the demon rose, “Ha! Oh good, you’re still here! Was afraid you’d leave without me.”

“What kept you?”

“ **You**!” Crawley chortled, “You made one Hell of an impression, angel! Even better than I’d hoped! How’d it go for you?”

“I didn’t get reprimanded as strongly as I might have. I told them about Ordog and they assumed it was he who was responsible for the hostilities.”

“Wait, what, they _reprimanded_ you? You banished a demon chieftain and they still reprimanded you?” Aziraphale nodded and Crawley snorted in disgust, “And here I got a commendation for holding you captive.”

“You didn’t exactly take me captive, Crawley.”

“No, but you **did** banish a demon chieftain. Seriously, they **reprimanded** you?!”

“Head Office has rather high standards,” Aziraphale said sourly.

“Meaning a constantly moving target that they never let you hit,” Crawley translated. Aziraphale bit his lips and Crawley grinned. 

“I’m afraid I’ve been given a new assignment,” Aziraphale said instead, “It’s up in the lands near the northern sea.”

“How far north?” Crawley said thoughtfully.

Aziraphale paused. “What are you thinking?” he asked warily.

“I’m thinking you’re still favouring your legs. Those bastards didn’t heal you, did they.”

“I _was_ able to use that as leverage to get the miracle restrictions lifted,” Aziraphale admitted. Crawley grinned. “What about your mission?”

Crawley scoffed, “They’ve got the territorialism thing covered all by themselves. The best I could do was stir up some proprietary possessiveness about their cheese.”

“It is very good cheese.”

“Right! So if I sow that bit of discord along all the cheese villages up the rivers…”

“You really want to do a cheese tour all the way up to the north?”

“Why not?”

“Do you even eat cheese?”

“ **You** do - you can tell me which villages to work.”

“I’ll bless their cheese-makers!” Aziraphale countered.

“There you go, thwarting!”

They laughed. Crawley snapped his fingers upwards and his pack appeared. He tossed it into the boat and got in. “I drink wine and beer, they go with cheese.”

Aziraphale picked up his oar and cast off, “They do go very well with cheese. **You** can tell me which vintners and brewsters to bless.”

Crawley laughed and dipped his paddle into the river, “Deal!”

**Author's Note:**

> The Beithir is a Scottish name for a particularly large and deadly serpent or dragon, sometimes associated with the goddess Beira, the Cailleach Bheur. One legend says that a hunter killed the Cailleach and hacked her to pieces, only for her to reassemble herself, transform into a beithir, and kill the hunter.
> 
> Sugaar or Sugoi are Basque names for a storm god who manifests as a serpent. He is the spouse of the goddess Mari. There are many similar legends across Europe and indeed, the world.
> 
> Yes, Aziraphale's companion is the unfortunate fellow who would be found some 5 000 years later and dubbed Otzi. They're in the Otzal Alps and the house described is similar to the pile houses typical of the area and era.


End file.
